The Burning Season
by Virtue
Summary: Months after the events of SIII: New challenges arise for the knights of Zexen as Chris Lightfellow determines what it is that makes us human. Broad range character study. Rating for mild violence and mild suggestive scenes.
1. Aftermath

**Chapter One: Aftermath **

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Suikoden III or any of it's characters.

**A/N:** This was written to be more of an introduction rather than an actual chapter. However, I happen to like it this way. This a twelve(ish) part piece centered mainly on Borus Redrum, because we love him so. Although several other characters will be included and examined as well.

* * *

_Our subconscious minds have no sense of humor, play no jokes and cannot tell the difference between reality and an imagined thought or image. What we continually think about eventually will manifest in our lives._

Sidney Madwed

* * *

_Dearest brother,_

_When will you come see me? Patrick says you are a busy man, but he doesn't say much else. Mother is annoying me. She comes by only to mock my decorative taste._

_Abigail_

_And please try to have Percival come by sometime as well._

Abigail chuckled when she reread the note a few days later. Originally it had been an offhand task, some form of amusement in her dull existence. But now, she honestly felt like having it delivered. A visit from Borus would be nice, however pathetic the terms of that visit may be.

"Mona," She said to the redheaded middle-aged woman crossing the room, cerulean vase of fresh cut white lilies in hand. "Please see that this is delivered to my dear brother."

The maid nodded, setting the white poppies on a nearby table and taking the neatly folded paper. "Of course, ma'am. Which one?"

"What do you mean which one?" Abigail snapped, "The only dear brother that I have. I'm not referring to that dolt who left us to travel the world for the search of something interesting!"

Mona nodded. Abigail Delmore was a dramatic woman, yet her snappy comments were a laugh for women anywhere. That is, when she wasn't around of course.

"Of course, ma'am. Right away."

* * *

The soil was black and moist beneath her fingers. The sensation of the damp coolness compared to the warmth of the sun's uninterrupted rays felt rather nice. Summertime in Vinay Del Zexay meant humidity and sun, as opposed to the ice and snow of winter.

Chris Lightfellow plucked the last weed from the bed. The tiny shrub made a small snapping sound as it's root was separated from the earth.

She sighed. Despite the relative calm of her current daily life, her circumstances remained a consistent worry. Staring into the fertile bed of honey lillies, the ominous possibilities of her upcoming Council slowly encompassed her like rich, thick velvet drapes.

* * *

That night, Leo softly lowered himself into bed next to his wife. It was once a rarity, he thought, to be able to lay like this.

Though she was not facing him, he couldn't help but to smile to himself. It was no longer a rarity, but it still was a luxury.

"My darling, I only ask that you behave yourself." Nash murmured softly to his wife.

Sierra sighed. "I don't know what she finds so unsettling about me. I'm more polite to her than I am to anyone else."

Nash knocked on the cherry oak door. "Well for starters, it could be the red eyes and-"

The door opened and a frail woman appeared. "Hello Nash," Julie said, opening the door all the way and stepping aside, allowing her guests inside. "And nice to see you again, Sierra".

Sierra's face relaxed. She had been scowling in anticipation of her husband's smart remark the moment the woman opened the door.

"Thank you. You look well, Julie." She replied as rehearsed to her sister in law.

"Oh, thank _you_."

They began to follow Julie down the bright sunlit hall towards the back of the house. Her wavy blonde hair bounced lightly in the flooding sun from the windows, appearing to be some kind moving mass of glittery gold.

"Where's Lena?" Nash asked. He looked around as they moved. The place hadn't changed much since their last visit only a month before. New flowers on the third table to the right. Tulips. Not Magnolias. And the sofa in the second room on the left had been pulled back some- about a foot or so.

"She's not back yet." Julie replied, opening the door to a rather lavish patio area outside. "She works later and later is seems. We weren't expecting you here quite this early."

She moved aside again, allowing the couple into the sitting area. Nash stepped around his wife to pull out a black wrought iron chair shaped by swirls of metal ivy. She sat, as he pushed it in. Julie nodded to the maid standing by the cart of assorted coffees and teas as she and Nash seated themselves.

The usual procession began. It wasn't that these family visiting were unpleasant for the married couple, it was more of the uneasiness caused by Julie's aging weary eyes as they settled politely of Sierra's eternal youth.

Sierra was not uncomfortable, for they were certainly treated graciously during their stays, but those stares- those awfully inquisitive stares that made Sierra want to blurt out something like:

"Look, I'm a vampire. I've been around for hundreds of years, I've sucked people's blood, and my eyes are red. Alright?"

* * *

Emma Vance scanned the shelves of the perfume shop. Various colors, shapes, sizes, all glistened in the brilliant sunlight, reflecting a muddled mural onto her white apron. She dealt with someone from everywhere on a day to day basis, but a majority of actual buyers were upper-class.

As the single child of Dr. Vance she knew what it was to be adored and to have a privileged upbringing. At the age of eight years she would scan through his texts and memorize the images a dissected human body. Her small olive colored hands to run down the page, captivated by the sharp curve at the bottom of the lungs, or the critical symmetry of the skull, light blue eyes constantly scanning, always craving more.

At the age of sixteen, her parents were dead. The story was on the tip of the tongue for weeks, how the magnificent Dr. William Vance and his adoring wife were caught in a snowstorm on their way back from a holiday party just outside the city. Their bodies were recovered a week later; beautiful, fresh, and seemingly forever frozen that way.

The weeks that followed were murky in her memory. A talk with a representative for the council in which a businesslike man presented her with a story of her father's fortune belonging to the citizens of Zexen.

His talk made no sense to her. As far as she knew, her father paid his taxes, charged fairly in his practice, and did not owe any money. The council's business man was one of those people who seemed to be able to make sense out of any fallacy, and she was too young, too naïve, and too overwhelmed to fight it. An so went her inheritance.

So here she worked, the elderly perfume entrepreneur Gustav as her employer, and living in a single room one block over from her place of work, by the pier. Unlike other employees, she specialized in the wealthy.

Her slender hands moved methodically, ensuring that each and every bottle was neat and orderly. No dust in sight. Label to front. Equal in quantity, if possible. Pricier ones placed in direct light for appeal.

She sighed, pushing her mousy brown colored ponytail over her left shoulder from where it's elbow length waves had fallen to her front. It was therapeutic, in a way. These intoxicating scents and colors, merging together in one spot to give her purpose.

* * *

"C'mon man, just pass me another one already." Percival called down the line of farmers-turned-engineers, to a small boy fiendishly hogging the leather bag of nails. He couldn't help but to be amused. If the boy took such great pride in passing nails around, he was definitely in for a happy future.

The rebuilding of Iksay would be a painfully slow process. Yet their progress thus far was indeed notable. His own neighborhood was finished for the most part, yet it seemed to lack the nostalgic charm his once recognized from his youth.

The boy approached him happily and looked up at the no longer uniformed knight. "How many?"

He squinted his eyes and mock studied the structure before him, as if genuinely in concentration. "Give me… like six for now." He decided and the boy obliged, only to heed similar calls from other villagers on the site.

The sun would soon set on his beloved Iksay and another day's work would be through. He would walk home to his mother's house and eat a hearty supper composed of the precious of what had survived the fires and what had recovered since.

* * *

Borus Redrum awoke several times that night with yet the same reoccurring dream. It had not haunted him in several weeks. He was so sure that that his consistent visits to the chapel were giving him peace, or progress at least.

But in the realm of his subconscious, the fires were hot. The small dark skinned children were helpless. The women were hysterical. Each bore large bright eyes made brilliant by the fires' hellish glow. And the blood ran hot and thick as it seeped into the ground and painted his sword, forever marking him as their murderer.

* * *

Meetings first thing in the morning were never a good sign. Although dependent on his preference of the individual, they were never a good thing period. He opened the door gently, and sure enough she was already there.

Chris nodded at him as he stepped in the room, closing the door behind him. "Good morning, Salome."

He returned the nod. "Good morning milady."

She exhaled slowly as he sat down and pushed a neat stack of papers in front of him. He lifted the stack as if it's weight could relieve whatever it was this was regarding.

His browed furrowed as he read the first line of the top page. "Are these reports?"

She nodded grimly. "An element about thirty to forty of them. Thieves. They've intercepted every route imaginable as far as the Unnamed Lands. Twelve dead total, although they have successfully obtained quite a sum of money. Two rapes."

He glanced up at her, but her eyes remained steady, fingers fumbling with her own stack.

She continued. "Their activity suggests some sort of stronghold or hideout they maintain. The location of such a place has not yet been identifiable but the center of the attacks seem to lie somewhere between Somer, Iksay, and Lyle.".

He winced. "That's a broad spectrum.".

Chris's finger relaxed. "They're highly organized, it appears.".

Salome inhaled softly and glanced at her again, this time she returned his gaze. "I'll come up with something, milady. This will be resolved. But it will take some time.".


	2. Signs of Life

**Chapter Two - Signs of Life**

* * *

Borus Redrum knocked on the great front doors of the Delmore home. He sighed, and did a quick check of himself: Shoes shined, laced. Collar straight. Vest buttoned (there was always something about the third one down- he had a tendency to miss it).

He snorted as he heard soft footsteps approaching the door. It was just Abigail. No Mother, no Father. Just dear lonely and compulsive Abigail.

A familiar face answered. "Sir Borus," the maid beamed at him, pulling the door wide open "Come in, Miss Abigail will be so pleased. I'll alert her at once."

The young blonde knight ran his right hand down his vest buttons one last time and nodded. "Thank you Mona.".

Mona closed the door behind him. She curtsied and marched softly up the grand staircase before them. Borus wandered purposefully towards the left of the staircase and into the morning parlor. This was most likely where Abigail would prefer to meet him, and he wished to make this visit as pleasant as necessary.

The room was fairly small- about the size of his living quarters at Brass Castle. Various shades of blue floral patterns hinted at his sister's most recent decorative tastes. A subtle fragrance of lilac sifted lightly through the air from the two large open bay windows.

Though her name changed with marriage a rather prosperous merchant, the temper of the Redrum line did not fail to diminish. Every time he visited her there was sure to be a different set of staff. Abigail didn't have patience for maids, although Mona always managed to stay around.

At last, he heard the proud, sharp footsteps from the hall. "Borus!" She exclaimed, gracefully extending her arms outward as he stood and returned the gesture. "I didn't think you would actually come because of my pathetic note!"

Abigail's look seemed to twist and change into something new and exclusive every time her saw her nowadays. But for today, she donned a simple pastel blue summer tea sat at the newly reupholstered chair across from his own. He smiled, "It's good to see you, Abigail.".

She eyed him skeptically. "Don't lie to me. My life has always been incredibly dull compared to yours. You always seem to have such a difficult time making an effort to see me.".

"I have a difficult time making an effort to see anyone."

Mona entered the room and silently lowered a gleaming silver tray between them.

Abigail cocked her head to the side, revealing the thin loose golden strays from her bun. The aroma of foreign herbs and spices filled their nostrils, and Mona left the room without a sound.

"Not even Percival? Or Lady Chris?" She asked, hoping to catch him in an anticipated white lie.

"Percival is in Iksay. And I happen to work with Lady Chris. I don't need to make time to see her."

Abigail smirked, her light brown eyes twinkling at his own. "I think you ought to attempt to court her. Now _that_ would be good breeding.".

Borus coughed, spilling tea all over the unfortunate chair. He later thought how he should have known better. Abigail had a tendency to dissect loved ones for pleasure.

* * *

A soft, polite knock rapped against her door. Emma rubbed her eyes. What time was it? She sat up, eyes settling wearily on the dark night streaming through her window.

The knock repeated. She did go to bed fairly early, but it was still late for visitors, which she never had anyway. Who could it be? Her tenant on the first floor wouldn't allow anyone up if it wasn't urgent.

Emma fumbled clumsily for her night robe in the dark. It was neatly folded, centered perfectly on the wooden chair by her bedside. She donned it quickly, undid the door's latch, peered into the dim hallway, and gasped.

A small, well dressed young man stood before her. "Hello, Miss Vance, I'm terribly sorry I've woken you." He spoke apologetically, "I stopped by earlier but your tenant told me you were working. I work under Sir Salome."

She was at loss for words. Sir Salome? Was this some sort of investigation? She quickly racked her brain for details. Nothing. Her daily routine had no scandal or anything out of the ordinary.

"O-Oh." She opened her mouth again, trying to come up with more.

"Sir Salome says that what the former Council took from you, as well as many other citizens is unfortunate to say the least." He began, eyes tired yet sincere, "Unfortunately much of which cannot be undone."

She could feel tears brimming her eyes. She did not know where this was going, but something of the way he spoke warned her that it was going to be tremendous.

"He knew Dr. Vance very well," His voice remained clear and gentle, "And if you are still interested in studying medicine, he would like you to become an asset at Brass Castle.".

She forced the tears back and swallowed a hard lump in her throat. Was this some kind of wonderful yet cruel dream?

He continued. "I need to know by tonight. There's a party leaving tomorrow midmorning, you see and medical practice there is unlike anything you will find here. You will be provided with a living quarters and a salary guaranteed higher than any job you'll obtain here."

"M-My father started there." She stammered.

He nodded.

She marveled at the offer. They were most likely short staffed, scraping for any sort of medical experience they could find. Yet still, it was an opportunity she would be mad to let go.

"Sir," She breathed. "This is..." She couldn't find any words.

His eyebrows rose.

"But I'll do it." She blurted.

He smiled. "It will be a pleasure to have you looking out for us, Miss Vance." He turned leave and halted, looking at the stunned young woman watching him. "Mid morning at the front gate. Don't be late.".

* * *

**BUDEHUC**

**MRS. CLOVIS SIGHTED AT LAST**

The mystery surrounding the questionable claim made by

the former Fire Bringer Nash Clovis that he does indeed have a

wife has finally been solved. Eye witness accounts have

confirmed her presence at Budehuc. So far the woman

of question has been seen entering the compound and

checking at the inn for any available rooms with Mr.

Clovis. "She made some kind of strange Hissing sound

when he made a statement about her age. I don't know.

She does seem kind of young for him.". Says an

undisclosed source. Perhaps we'll never know

the story behind this mysterious couple.

* * *

Yumi carefully settled the bundle into the dark wooded cradle, decorated richly with various shades and patterns of green. The baby inside of it cooed softly, hiccupping and staring back up at her. Yumi smiled. The young were her favorite part of life.

She gently lowered her right index finger, settling it into the infant's palm, allowing the little soft fingers close and tighten around it. She giggled lightly as she remembered the night at Budehuc, when Ace attempted to get information out of her as far as the Alma Kinan reproduction process. Despite the effects of alcohol on an unfamiliar body, he didn't quite get much out of her save for a cruel beating from Yuiri.

She shook her head and pitied the mothers of the outside world. How sad it seemed- to be forced to share a child with a man, and raise it outside the realm of such tremendous security and sisterhood.

The dark brown patch of light, feathery wisps framed the precious face as the little girl yawned and closed her eyes, softly relaxing though not completely relieving her hold on Yumi's hand.

* * *

Late at night, Louis rolled out of his bunk and settled into the rough wooden desk, feeling for familiar shapes in the dark. Lighting the single white candle, he pondered how exactly he would go about this occasional nighttime ceremony, when all the thoughts and feelings from his shallow dreams still trickled through his brain during consciousness.

He neatly scribed on the sheet of parchment.

_Father,_

_I realize I have not written in a while, and I'm sure you are awaiting an update._

He paused for a moment, unsure of what to say next.

_I am doing quite well as usual. Things have gotten much slower in the last few months since the disbanding of the Fire Bringer and we returned to Brass Castle. _

_Lady Chris stays busy though, and because of that I stay busy as well. She is actually currently in Vinay Del Zexay awaiting more information on recent events, and she has me staying here to help Sir Roland conduct the management of training. I've been asking his advice for upcoming training that I must undergo to become knighted. He appears to believe that I am well on my way, which is promising._

_That being said, I should really get some rest now. Tell Mother I said hello, and that I am still currently well fed and feeling healthy._

He smiled and signed at the bottom of the page. There was still much he felt he hadn't covered, but those shallow dreams were seeping now, growing increasingly thicker. His body yearned for sleep. He carefully folded the parchment, blew out the candle, and felt his toward the bedside table where he set it down, assured that he would see it first thing in the morning and not forget to send it off.


	3. Morning Chord

**Chapter Three- Morning Chord**

* * *

There were times when Percival Fraulein's laugh came from somewhere so deep and so rich that it seemed to mellow Borus to the point of a pure and light euphoria.

It rang throughout the morning like an old familiar chime of their past; a friendship that was best described as brotherhood. Borus had two older brothers. Both of which often dreamed of becoming knights during their childhood, but as they neared eligibility they scattered. Borus's interest sprouted merely out of competition. And here he was, alongside his most able competitor.

The dark haired knight looked like nothing of the sort. His brunette hair was scattered with various shades of lighter brown, contrasting with the deepening tones of his olive colored skin from his many recent days in the sun. If one hadn't known better, he would be assumed no more than any other commoner in his grey tunic and brown slacks.

Borus continued to swallow the last of his croissant, picking the last bits from his teeth with his tongue.

* * *

Thomas opened the lid of the comment box. Something new was present. He excitedly grabbed for the small piece of paper. This was it. This would be the newest suggestion to better the quality of life for the people of Budehuc. He unfolded it slowly, savoring the anticipation, and read with his brow furrowed.

_In the long run, we will all be dead. _

The young man exhaled sharply in disappointment. "Sebastian!" He called to the butler in the open-doored office down the hall, "If you happen to see Landis, _please _tell him the comment box is to be taken _seriously_!"

* * *

When Emma woke that morning, her world felt abstract. The sun had just barely begun to show itself. She pushed back the covers and gingerly picked the sleep from her eyes. Today was it. First, gather belongings in order of priority.

She wasn't exactly sure on what she'd be expected to bring: she didn't have much. The shelves above her humble sized bed contained a small fine cherry oak chest with the few objects she was able to keep from collectors who had taken her parents' belongings. Although the well dressed men intended to be thorough, they didn't seem to account properly for her father's personal medical journal, or her mother's opal pendant.

Second, tell Gustav she would be leaving. This was a dreaded conversation as the dear man had provided more support than anyone the past several years.

Third, she would arrive at the main gate of the city, to depart for Brass Castle. She shuddered slightly, pulling her knees towards her chest. The high of possibility and excitedly from the night before had worn off, leaving her in anticipation's heavy shadow.

* * *

"Just be safe, man," Percival sighed, shaking his head as they strolled towards the main gate. "I hear they're everywhere."

Borus shrugged. It was prime news lately, and it seemed that safe biddings were a constant farewell. "Of course."

He absentmindedly fingered the hilt of the sword at his waist. The cowards tended to target unarmed groups, as opposed to military men who had the ability to properly defend themselves. The subject stirred a small spark of anger, and with them he brushed it off before it really began to bother him.

"How long will you be here this time?"

Percival's trips to the capital were frequent and brief, typically consisting of an exchange of goods that could assist Iksay's repair.

Percival hummed softly for a moment. "Just a few days, if that. It's a shame you are headed back to Brass Castle so soon."

Borus nodded. They were now passing a boisterous group of small children, gawking and pointing excitedly towards the tall, handsome knight in full armor, prepared for a day of rigorous travel. "Perhaps you could pay Lady Chris a visit before you leave. She'd appreciate that, I'm sure."

"That would be nice," The commoner-dressed knight agreed, "I haven't seen her in a while." His memory of their last meeting was muddled with the slow and short passing of time, along with the undertones of pain and subtle anxieties. He had announced his temporary resignation from the Knights, in favor of helping his hometown rebuild. She had gracefully accepted and supported his decision, for which he found himself extremely grateful.

Borus's farewell was relatively short and pleasant. There was no need to make any more of it; it wouldn't be long until he saw his friend again.

* * *

As the summer sun made it's way towards the middle of the morning sky, Emma couldn't help but feel as if her heart were somewhere far down below, amongst the smooth unknown depths of Vinay Del Zexay's port, or perhaps her parents' caskets buried six feet into the earth. This city was all that she had known. In her twenty two years she had experienced the various flavors of both life and death, and wasn't quite sure if there was anything else she could possibly handle.

She shifted her two knapsacks from her right shoulder towards her left. She was anticipating at least a full day of travel before they reached the castle, and she didn't know much more than that. Her yellow blouse contrasted proud, pressed, and clean against her brown leggings. If there was such an occasion that called for such clothing, it would be today.

"Do you need any assistance, Miss Vance?"

Emma glanced towards to the soft, dry voice that referred to her. It was vaguely familiar. He stood tall, trim blonde hair cut neatly, as was the royal hues of his clothing. Sir Salome. She inhaled gratefully as he gently lifted a bag from her weary shoulder.

"Sir Salome," She breathed, "Thank you." Rosy, sun dried lips parted again, hoping to develop some kind of words that could fill the apparent void. What else could she say? No one of importance so much as muttered her name outside of the perfume shop anymore. Certainly no one such as a Zexan Mighty Knight.

He smiled. "I take it you accepted my offer?"

"Yes.". Her ponderings from the night before began to flood her head. What could possibly have made him think of _her? _Surely her name was forgotten by now.

"I'm glad I ran into you this morning, Miss Vance," He paused. "-I appreciate that you can drop everything to help our men in such short notice."

Emma gawked at the thought. "Oh Sir Salome," She breathed, "I don't see how I could refuse, given my circumstances."

"Regardless."

She absentmindedly shifted her single bag, as if it suddenly multiplied into the weight of the two bags total.

"Sir Borus will be leading the movement out there. It will be you and a small squad. It should be about a day's worth of travel. At nightfall, you will stop to rest. I must stay behind due to recent events it seems."

Emma nodded.

"Upon arrival you will be escorted to Head Nurse Elenor. She will be your supervisor, and will provide your accommodations."

The young woman nodded again. "Sir Sal-" She stopped and cleared her throat. It was dry. "Sir Salome."

He glanced down at her, eyebrow raised. "Hmm?"

"With all due respect, out of all the citizens of Zexen, what made you come find me?"

His smile echoed from the first he'd shown her that day. "Your mother and father were good people. And I remember how you loved those books. It's my from my own experience that I've learned such passion doesn't diminish that easily."

They halted in front of a group of soldiers; two knights and three squadron. They turned towards their superior upon arrival.

"Good morning," He greeted the men, "inform Sir Borus that Miss Vance will be accompanying your movement. Please take her bags."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

In the many trials given in the training prior to knighthood, blind training was a man's worst enemy. As a commoner he was no stranger to deprivation, mockery, or beating among his well to do peers, and yet this certain task took him multiple tries to pass.

Given small cave, clear of any sort of creatures for training purposes, a single man would be placed inside. He would be isolated from his comrades, and given a simple task: locate his weapon inside the absolute blackness, strategically placed by his superiors for his own good.

The knight's pupils would ache from extreme dilation, and his heart would race from paranoia. It was the absolute test of bravery in it's own strange own. The bleak, cold walls of the cavern seem to try to close itself on a man, as if it's ultimate purpose was the suffocate him and rid him of his sense of depth perception. At least this was how it seemed to Percival Fraulein.

The first time he tried was the downfall of his seemingly unwavering self confidence; he was recovered within several hours by the cadre, dehydrated from vomiting.

The second time he tried, he was knocked unconscious from an unsuspected low drop in the cavern's ceiling.

The third time he tried, his eyes seemed to dance with swirls of color and shapes dancing in the blackness, attempting to find any source of light. His steps were crooked and weak and he moved too slow. And due to his previous recent history, he was quickly recovered and mocked by cadre.

"_What is so difficult about it?"_ His newfound comrade had asked him at the time, _"I can see one failure, but three? The cave is straightforward! One path! Don't even bother with the orientation and direction bullshit they try to teach you, just walk straight, and your weapon will be right in front of you, I swear it."_ Borus's frustration would be clearly evident.

It was easier said than done.

On the fourth and final time he tried, he did something he would never admit. He repeated his friend's words in his head, and grasped at the cool walls, always moving, always smooth. No orientation bullshit. No direction bullshit. Just grab in the dark like a fool and go. This task was irrelevant to becoming a knight anyways.

It hadn't even been thirty minutes, and he emerged with the weapon from the opening of the cave. There was some mock applause and cruel remarks all around him, as always. But he would prove himself in time to come. After all, this task was pointless.

* * *

Sierra sighed harshly. Their current stay at Budehuc wasn't exactly as private as they had hoped. Adoring fans (for what, she had no idea), newspaper article, and some nosy boy who introduced himself as "Kidd" couldn't seem to give her any rest.

"It's the middle of the day. What makes you think I want to lay down in the middle of the day?"

Her husband shrugged. He now remained tangled in the covers where she left him, clothing still in disarray about the small room.

"If I remember clearly, humans tend to be a bit more productive during this time." She added, carefully brushing pale hair in the dresser's mirror.

He shrugged again, grinning. "I think it's been pretty productive so far."

She rolled her crimson colored eyes before coyly replying, "I don't know if I would call that productive."

Nash scowled.

* * *

She was exactly how he had remembered her. Eyes tired, yet lovely. Skin flushed and healthy. Perhaps thinner…

He changed his mind. Definitely thinner.

"Why milady," He laughed in mock astonishment, "I _never _thought I'd see the day!"

Her head snapped in his direction as the familiarity of his cool, pleasant voice. She had indeed changed noticeably despite her never aging appearance. Lavender orbs cringed within their frames of dark gray lashes and ivory skin, focusing on the man standing before her.

She released a nervous laugh; the nerves being due the fact that out of everyone who could catch her gardening, _Percival _was the one to do it. With the skill he had in retelling stories, no one was bound to let her live this down.

But more than anything she was happy to see him again.

"Percvial!" She rose and they embraced briefly. The earth that was once between her fingers now crumbled to the ground.

He laughed as they simultaneously released one another. "I would think that with your salary, you would be able to pay _someone else _to this."

She shrugged, and nodded towards the nearby flowerbed in which she had just become engrossed. "It's soothing."

He nodded, casually sliding his hands into his pockets. "It is."

"What brings you back this way?" Her own hands self consciously rubbed at the hem of her own trousers, dusting off the last of the dirt from them.

He shrugged. "I return every now and then. We obtain supplies as needed to rebuild Iksay."

"Oh." She paused, unsure of what to say next, "Well if you have any shortages, please let me know."

"Of course." He was still unable to drop his smile.

She looked around the front yard absentmindedly before she spoke again, unsure of why this moment was so subtly difficult. "Would you like to come in?"

"Sure."

She smiled back. It was nice speaking to Percival again, she had completely forgotten how much she missed it.

* * *

"Load it up." Borus asserted to the squad, as they stood idly awaiting his order.

They instantly began the process of making final adjustments as their leader lifted himself upon his steed.

"Excuse me, Miss Vance," The girl looked up from the book she had recently purchased to the fully uniformed infantryman. "We're leaving."

"Oh." She snapped the book shut and gratefully accepted the man's help as her assisted her upon a horse.

"Who're you?"

She would've lost her balance if it weren't for the helpful man's firm grip upon her arm. She knew who the questioning man was. He was recognizable in his clearly expensive armor and wavy locks of blonde hair. His brown eyes were wide, and probably looked more intimidating than he'd truly intended.

But Emma couldn't perceive as much. She simply looked back, and answered timidly.

"Emma Vance."

One of the knights spoke before she could say any more. "Sir Salome sent her. New medical hand at for Brass Castle, Sir Borus."

The Swordsman of Rage nodded, eyes maintaining their firm hold on her. "Alright then. Do you have everything you need, Miss Vance?"

"Yes." She made her voice as steady as she possibly could. Here it was. The first moment in her life when she would depart from these walls, to the land where her parents had met their demise years before, a place unfamiliar and so completely unknown to her. She was not typically one to act quite so timid, but it was inevitable.

Borus nodded again, and shifted his eyes to each of his men, carefully ensuring everything was in place.

"Let's go."


	4. The Scorned

**Chapter Four-**

After several hours of painful head bobbing from the tease of sleep, Borus decided he had enough. This night had not provided him with much besides the ominous images of blazing flames and desperate screams. Sleep was not going to be an option tonight.

She cast him a sideways glance from the stray strands of her loosening bun. The Zexen Knight commander was now seated beside her, as if he could be an old friend.

"Difficult night's sleep, Lord Borus?" She questioned politely.

He chuckled. "You could say that. I prefer a bed."

She relaxed her uptight prose, and settled the book on the opposite side from where he sat.

"Is this your first time to Brass Castle?"

"Yes."

He leaned back slightly on his elbows, allowing his legs to stretch out. Though his position was oddly casual for his typical uptight behavior, it was the one position that relieved the tension of his lower back when it flared up with the cramps that resulted from constant use of heavy armor.

"It's a decent place to be, in my opinion. Home for me, I suppose," He glanced up at her. "Not my real home, of course."

Emma nodded. "Vinay Del Zexay."

"You seem so sure."

She shrugged, crossing her hands in her lap.

"Everyone knows the Redrum family. And I remember Abigail."

He raised an eyebrow. "You know my sister?"

"We had the same arithmetic tutor. We had conference sessions together sometimes."

Familiarity enriched his memory. That was right. Abigail had never taken well to criticism for her work, even if she were the only people. She tended to benefit from group sessions.

"Ah." He responded, "I see."

They sat silent, quietly taking in the odd uncomfortably that they emanated from one other.

Borus stretched his back further. The position wasn't doing it. He slowly relaxed again. In spite of his pain he hadn't realized how rude he was acting in the presence of this lady he hardly knew.

"So you intend to become a physician?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure what my intentions are. Only they don't consist of the way I live now. But I do love my father's work." She stopped her thought short. It wouldn't do her any good to open up to this man.

"That sounds reasonable."

She couldn't resist. "Lord Borus, I want to ask a fairly bold question."

His eyes flashed at her again, temporarily stealing her train of thought.

"What's that?"

"Becoming one of the Six Mighty Knights at such a relatively young age seems like quite the feat." She paused, carefully plotting how to word her next sentence, "How did you know you wanted to become a knight?"

"I didn't. I wanted to be better than my brothers."

She blinked. This certainly wasn't the answer she had anticipated.

"It became something I wanted as soon as I tried it. The more I learned, the more I craved, and the better I became.".

She pondered his answer for a moment. She had heard of his skill; swordsmanship unrivaled by the entire Zexen Army. She had observed the team during their few encounters with the wild creature population throughout the day, and couldn't help but lock her eyes on him despite the obvious skill of his subordinates. He seemed so graceful, so effortless and quick in his movements, yet his menacing manner and seductive rage intrigued her.

"You make it sound so simple."

He laughed softly. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure how to say it. I suppose I'm a bit envious."

He inhaled sharply, as if unsure of what to say, or how to say what he knew she needed to hear.

"Of what, if I may ask?"

"I don't know."

He dropped the topic.

Later that night, Emma finally slipped into the depths of her own unconscious, as the raging swordsman idley prodded at the embers in front of her. She felt oddly secure in the midst of the unknown, knowing she was capable of achieving some sort of connection with such a man, even if it was evident they wouldn't have much to say to one another after tonight.

"I'm not going to ask you again."

The man was bound at his wrists, ankles and knees. He croaked slightly, due to dehydration. His interrogator was an awfully brawny man, no doubt one of those ruffians that had been rumored to roam the very roads his caravan had been traveling earlier that day.

"Y-Yes." He finished in defeat.

A smaller man approached, fidgeting absentmindedly with the tight knots along his spine. "Got anything?"

The bigger man grinned, never losing the gaze of his fearful captive. "'course I do. This guy's a servant for Councilman Reed."

His companion clicked his tongue. "Bingo."

Abigail huffed as her carriage driver took his sweet time unlatching the door. Good help was certainly hard to find. She leaned out into the night and held out her hand expectantly and he obliged, allowing his mistress a safe and secure release to the Delmore estate.

"Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, madam?" The elderly man offered, bowing before her.

"No." She snapped, not bothering to acknowledge the disappointment as she hastily scurried to her front door.

She twisted the black iron key in it's lock. The familiar clicking noises ensued, proceeded by the faint wining of heavy oak as she was granted access to her home. She shut the door behind her softly. The house was awfully eerie this time of night.

A single oil lamp remained illuminated at the top of the grand marble staircase. So, that no good husband of hers was still awake. She lifted her crimson ball gown so that the ends no longer threatened to betray her as she ascended the stairs.

How humiliating tonight had been, she thought to herself. The dense soles of her elegant shoes clicked, echoing throughout the hall. It was the one thing she asked of Patrick- to simply accompany her to their good friend Eleanor's engagement party to a Councilman. The politician _did _have a name- but that didn't matter right now.

He relinquished the invitation last minute, saying he wasn't feeling well. The clicking continued. It had been a night of awkward questions. Sympathetic smiles, her own friends whispering as she approached with no arm to cling to. And the dress- it was tailored specifically for this event. And he decided last minute he didn't feel up to it.

But now she had him caught for sure. The help would not leave a lamp in the hall lit when Patrick was in bed. She reached the top of the stairs, and stormily directed herself to the east wing. He was going to get it. Her footfalls muffled by the plush carpet, imported from Dunan. That didn't matter now either, although it usually did.

A light slid through the crack of the double doors of the master bedroom. She didn't slow her fiery pace a bit as she raised her gloved arms and pushed them open simultaneously.

Abigail halted. The doors slammed shut from her provided momentum behind her. She gasped.

There aboard her own white silk sheets, beneath her grand velvet canopy, Patrick moved his gaze from the green eyed naked beauty beneath him to the dumbfounded fully clothed wife before him.

In that moment, the women simultaneously released a wail. One out of sheer pleasure, and the other gathered in the depths of Redrum's fury.

When their eyes met the following morning, Chris's typically stone features softened lightly. He waved in her direction from across the road, glanced up and down the street briefly for the occasional carriages, and jogged over to his former captain.

She smiled, unknowingly noting the golden glimmer of sun bleached highlights that crowned his unkempt scalp.

"Good morning, milady. It figures you'd be up this early when the city sleeps off it's hangover."

She chuckled. In Percival's universe, everyone was entitled to night of drinking regardless of age, gender, or the day of the week.

"I have business to attend to, Percival." She gaze wandered to the various Iksay men behind him, productively packing their wagons with yesterday's profit. "Leaving so soon?"

He nodded. "I'm afraid so. There's still much to be done."

His dark eyes studied her tactfully before he moved to reach into his leather coat pocket, revealing a small cloth bag tied with a brown leather thong. "I'm glad I was able to see you before I left.

She eyed the bag suspiciously before accepting it from his outreached hand. "What's this?"

"Tomato seeds. I find gardening far more enjoyable when you get to taste your own produce." He grinned. "They're not difficult to harvest, especially a newbie such as yourself, milady."

She nodded. "Thank you."

Someone whistled in his direction. He waved to the caller briefly before turning back towards her.

"I'd best be leaving now. I hope to see you again soon, milady."

She nodded indignantly. "Yourself also."

"Why did you have to end things right then!" The silver haired girl exclaimed furiously. "She had no right!"

Dark almond eyes squinted in amusement, as if struggling to suppress laughter.

"Lilly Pendragon isn't worth what rank you have."

The girl exhaled sharply. "You're right I suppose."

A long moment passed. The string music streamed bravely into the back hall from the grand room where the encounter of Lilly Pendragon and Chris Lightfellow had taken place just moments before.

"I-I can't believe I lost my bearing like that so quickly."

Percival shrugged. "It happens."

She winced as she spotted a small scrape on thumb of her left finger, limbs still shaking. Apparently the broken wine bottles had taken their toll.

"I'm so embarrassed." She nervously raised the digit to her lips, soothing it with her tongue.

Her current companion chuckled. "Don't be. It'll be the talk of every dinner table for the next several years, at least. But what is it more than that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The tiny laceration had a slight metallic taste as she rolled her tongue over it again.

"Perhaps. It always does the trick for me."

She stared. Of course. She was talking to the master of controversy. The man who single-handedly upturned the noble tradition of knighthood and obtained a surname that he clearly was not born with.

"Sir Percival?" A high soprano voice sounded in the hall.

He nodded to her and greeted the voice's petite owner. Such a feminine and small build enhanced by soft brown curls and brilliant grey eyes. Percival was constantly in the company of such dolls. In a single act, she unknowingly discovered a way to separate him from his admirers.

She sighed, and eventually relieved her shaking body. She would amiably approach Lilly. She would apologize sincerely. She would reclaim her dignity if it took all night and another humiliating experience to do so.

Due to the lack of sleep, Emma constantly found herself unintentionally dosing here and there through the remainder of the journey. Her heart fluttered excitedly as she felt the impact of her steed's hoof upon hardened cobblestone.

"Are you feeling well, Miss Vance?" Bradley questioned gently. He had been assigned the task of assuring her primary comfort and safety throughout the trip. His assistance had been gentle, which she appreciated; she disliked being patronized.

"I am." She smiled sweetly at the vast fortress before them.

The atmosphere around them had quickly transformed on the bridge. Merchants were fast at work, haggling with passerby. They passed a musician silently tuning his single string instrument in preparation for his daily performance. Distant huffs and squeals from assorted livestock filled the air, mingling with the scent of food, steel, and leather.

"Welcome to Brass Castle, Miss Vance." Borus leaned toward her slightly, acknowledging her existence for the fist time since the night before, "I hope you find what you're looking for here."

"Thank you, Lord Borus." The blonde knight nodded toward Bradley. "See to it that she is taken care off."

"Yes, milord."

Fierce sunlight shocked her eyelids, forcing them open. Mid morning had arrived, and yet Abigail felt as if she had yet to sleep a single hour. She stirred occasionally throughout the morning, uncharacteristically silent as the servants shuffled about their day, whispering the fresh gossip of the night before.

At one point, Patrick's playful tenor voice rang from outside in the garden below the guest bedroom's open window. Speaking with another mistress perhaps? Another damned home wrecker? She knew who her husband was when he asked for her hand in marriage, yet it didn't seem to _hurt _quite so much at the time.

Her lithe joints seemed to creak as she lifted herself from the tawny covers of the bedspread's geometrical pattern. The grand mirror before her reflected an unfamiliar figure. An extraordinarily unusual Abigail Redrum-turned-Delmore.

She huffed at that thought, thoughtfully stepping forward to grip the ends of her lengthy blonde hair. She played with the strands a bit, raising them, lowering them, imagining a pin here or a clip there…

She would consider this a late morning. She would start with a refreshing bed with spearmint. She would wear yellow. She would go shopping and spend as much money as possible-what loss would it be to her?

And perhaps not today, but someday soon she would have her revenge. It would surpass it's crime. Surely his career path had taught him better than this. Especially a path as successful as his. One cannot take such risks or break such ties in a business without anticipation of some sort or retribution. She smirked evilly. He would pay _double_.

Salome sighed and rubbed his temples. "These men are awfully skilled for common bandits."

Chris settled the intricate stale blue cup onto the table between them. "There's nothing common about a man who chooses to reap from another's labor."

"I wish that were so."

She sighed. When Salome grew frustrated, he also became uncomfortably cryptic.

"Perhaps," He sighed. "We are looking in the wrong places?"

She eyed the tired looking man cautiously. "Where should we be looking then"

"Closer."

She blinked. "Closer?"

"Two perfectly coordinated attacks in the past three weeks. All wealthy poorly guarded caravans. No tracks to follow to any sort of hideout or safe place. There must be someone on the inside. Our side."

"This will be your living quarters."

Nurse Elenor carried herself with a stature of a somewhat stern, yet kind woman. Aside from the few wrinkles on her crisp white apron (which Emma had noticed immediately, and longed to correct) her appearance was clean and well kept. Long dark hair was pinned carefully in a pristine bun perfectly level with her ears.

The room before them was surprisingly larger than her room back in Zinay Del Zexay, though not by much. A single bed was nestled beneath one window, complete with a down blue pinstriped quilt and matching pillows. A simple nightstand and armoire were nearby. The other window was covered by neatly tied white shades, as a bathing area was located in front of it. The two aspects of the room were divided by a small series of bookshelves and a blue two-man sofa.

"I'll show you where to get fresh linens and such later. For now I'd like to think you desire a bath."

The older woman eyed her critically. Emma felt slightly embarrassed as she nodded and set down her bags on the sofa. Having herself in such disarray wasn't typical; she hoped Elenor didn't think so.

"I do."

Elenor chuckled. "Well then, the next part of the tour will be fetching bathwater then."

She nodded to the darkly stained wooden door and they progressed toward the stairs to being their descent back down towards the medical ward.

"So," Emma started as they passed the large room of various instruments and cots, "What do you typically do here?"

Elenor sighed. "Not much as of late, luckily since the war ended. An occasional training injury. Seasonal illnesses. Much of my staff left to find work elsewhere when the demand went down. You'll have much time to study I expect. I hear you aspire to be a physician like your father?"

Emma caught something in the dark haired woman's speech. A slightly slower drawl, a different pronunciation of certain vowels barely noticeable to those unused to caring. Working for a merchant desiring wealthy customers had taught her such things; this woman was commoner with an exceptionally contrite education.

"Perhaps." She answered the woman suddenly feeling polite, "I would be glad to be of help also."

Yuiri watched as her younger sister adoringly cooed over the child.

"She's going to be wonderful," The gentler woman breathed.

The baby hiccupped softly and secured her grip upon her caretaker's index finger.

"I wonder what it would be like to have a father."

Yuiri snorted. "Why? Have you seen some of the men we fought alongside?" She shuddered, remembering Ace's attempt to coerce her sister to disclose sacred information with alcohol.

Yumi smiled. She knew exactly what Yuiri was referring to. "That's is true. But there were many good men as well. Perhaps such balance with a good woman could be a powerful thing."

Yuiri shrugged. She forcefully continued to sharpen the knife in her hand. It was her own perfectly balanced companion, as far as she was concerned.

"Our sisterhood is more powerful than that of other races." She spoke tenderly, careful not to hurt her sister's feelings. "We are one. There is no possibility of betrayal, or broken homes, drunken mistakes, or violent criminals. An Alma Kinan child is a fortunate child.

Yumi smiled. Yuiri was right, of course. She looked into the abnormally deep eyes of her infant sister. A perfect balance between a man and a woman was not perfect at all, but it looked awfully lovely in her mind all the same.


End file.
